


One Week

by Letterblade



Category: Voltron: Legendary Defender
Genre: Blindfolds, Bondage, Chastity Device, F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-01-19
Updated: 2019-01-19
Packaged: 2019-10-12 19:51:22
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 959
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17473919
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Letterblade/pseuds/Letterblade
Summary: The thing about dating Pidge—science-romancing? messing-with-each-other-even-when-they-love-each-other? whatever-they're-doing?—is that a guy learns to recognize a certain glint in her eye which meanssomethingis going to happen.





	One Week

**Author's Note:**

> Tumblr porn fic request; prompt was Hunk/Pidge and chastity devices.

The thing about dating Pidge—science-romancing? messing-with-each-other-even-when-they-love-each-other? whatever-they’re-doing?—is that a guy learns to recognize a certain glint in her eye which means _something_ is going to happen. While she asks him a million questions about how it feels. For science. Or just to do it. Hunk gives her shit about it, but he adores her anyway, and okay, he’s maybe not as vanilla as he’d thought and she’d never pretended to be in the first place, and sometimes it’s led to things that feel incredibly brain-breakingly good for one or both of them.

And sometimes it’s led to a small cage locked snugly around his dick for a week.

The fact that she asks him a million questions about it actually makes it less alarming? He can tell her about where it itches and how he’s cleaning and how it aches in the morning, and she can examine everything with great care and look up the right skin cream and file everything away. He could _probably_ hack the electronic lock if he really wanted to, he knows Pidge’s style and it’s only a 32-bit chip, but it would take a while, and okay, he’s curious too, even if it’s taken a lot of getting used to. At least he wears baggy pants?

Also he can get his revenge, because he likes making her feel good, and he doesn’t have his dick on hand, and he can pick her up by the hips and pin her against the wall at face height without breaking a sweat, and oral sex gets squirmy leg-shaky almost-too-much for her in about five minutes flat. So that all adds up to a whining writhing Pidge telling him he’s very mean, which is only fair, and being a tiny sweaty bundle chewing gently on his shoulder when it’s over, one small hand curled possessively over his caged dick.

Which made up for a few days ago, when she’d shoved him back in his chair without much more warning than a “lift ‘em and spread ‘em” and traded the cage for some cuffs on his wrists. Apparently taking the cage off occasionally to make him come is a thing people do—or, more accurately, to make him empty his balls. She'd wrung two slow, aching, dribbling orgasms out of him with nothing but his prostate and dirty talk, his big feet kicking in the air, and then stuffed him back into the thing as he whined and fussed and told her exactly how frustrating that was in no uncertain terms. And didn’t safeword. And fingered her once she uncuffed him, sprawled over him to eat his face off and drip all over his hand.

At any rate, it’s been a week, and Pidge has caught him an hour after dinner when he’s in his happy place and put him in an even happier place, which is to say wrapped up snugly in rope, blindfolded, with a large and thuddy-pulsing toy lodged in his ass. She hasn’t gagged him, but she keeps sticking fingers in his mouth for him to suckle on blissfully, and he’s hazed out with no sense of time. The cage is aching—he’d be hard without it, but the way it removes that urgency, that little timer of how long things will go until he comes and they might end, is kind of nice.

Then, at some point when her fingers are gone and he’s moaning open-mouthed after she’s pulled on his nipples a lot, he hears a soft electronic click.

“Oh,” he blurts as the cage falls away. “Oh boy. You—you’re gonna let me—?”

“Come how you like?” Her small, cool hands catch him, stroke him, and the ache bleeds into a deep and singularly erotic _thing_ somewhere between pain and desire as his dick swells and groans with relief. “Yeah. And you’re gonna tell me how good it is compared to normal.”

“Muhh…”

“When we’re done, if you’re too high.”

“‘M pretty high, Pidge.”

“Good,” she purr-growls, and there’s knees against his sides or something, he’s not quite sure, and then his dick brushes wet curls.

“Shit, oh god, oh, y-you…”

“Yeah,” she breathes. He quivers in the ropes, babbles nonsense, as she slides down slowly. She doesn’t do this often—he’s big for her, he knows, it’s a little embarrassing—she must have been playing with herself where he couldn’t see, getting herself ready. She’s hot and wet and vise-tight, so tight she has to grind down hard to get him in there as she squeezes around him, and he makes noises that he barely recognizes as she starts to ride him.

He sees white and stars behind his blindfold. It doesn’t particularly last.

Later, after he stretches out his shoulders and collapses and babbles forever about how good it was, she sprawls on his chest with a light in her eye, plays with a thick handful of his hair, and says, “So wanna do it next week too?”

Hunk makes a disgruntled noise, pouts. “ _Jeez_ , Pidge. I mean, I like having a dick. It’s mine, I grew it myself.”

She boops his nose. “Week after?”

“Hfffffff.” He turns it over in his head, feels something in his gut coil with with dim heat. “Okay. Fine. But I get to work you up to fuck you when the week’s up.”

Pidge makes a disgruntled noise in return. “Okay. Fine. I get to fist you while you’re wearing it.”

Hunk feels his ears burn. Damn it, he has given her way too much to work with by now. “Oh no do not throw me in that briar patch,” he mumbles.

The sheer glee in that gremlin giggle she has, though—that’s as good as the sex. The kinky, kinky sex.


End file.
